Strangers chefs, that are, strangers. All I smell with lack of modesty and like hounds we build our world by dint of concealing our cheeky sniff daily. Sweaty hand of a child's cheek he presented to us or the dish is served, all smell. Strange people and egocentric, which turns casually interested when someone talks menisci, because we believe that this is a new recipe for cooking knee and every time an animal is named not think about how young, but as stewing. We think the world revolves around us, as duly noticed once the Basque chef Bruno Oteiza, we are confident that the architects studying for restaurants and street engineers to arrive at the restaurants.
Weeping and solidarity to death, we are. Rarely go to movies not to be accompanied by evidence and is easy to recognize almost always dressed as chefs do to avoid a civil cold clothes, that makes us persons over the years. Maybe we spend two paychecks on a chair that we liked, we are lovers of the aesthetic, yet we never take away the ugly Swedish chef. We see with love those feet that sustain us, the chair in the kitchen is an affront, the knife more than a work tool is a fetish, that does not pass from hand to hand because her virginity belonged to us and almost always eat standing.
not turn off the phone, if one of us ran out to call dilute the defiance of two, three. Honestly we are saddened and an empty restaurant to burst is shared triumph. At the time, says Mecano Torroja rod 33 in "Cruz de Navajas", we imagine ourselves in silence and when Mario Cerati on "A million light years" speaks from the ashes of a long night, we look with complicity with past histories no longer stunned.
Adrenaline is our vice and addiction first steps we give to each immediate applause seeking acceptance and nail hope that loving act of gastronomic gesture've only seen teeth. Sometimes we take vacations and visit whenever, for example, the Eiffel Tower because it happened it's so near a restaurant. In those moments when the first symptoms of withdrawal, at about 10 pm, when the body cries out to us the everyday grind of orders are given and taken, results leave the company, jump off the table and others run into the kitchen.
always arrive sober at parties when they are beginning to show fans that say it all in the heat of the uninhibited morning. Furtive glances to come to us show through. Our hunger to get home is rhythmic by fridges painted (not empty) and Miguel Hernández say ... painted with a single bottle of wine and a bottle of mustard. It's funny, we cooks common odor that we can recognize with reverence Mason secret whenever we enter the messy underworld of our cars. We believe in charms, we have codes of honor, we do not like to be reminded that a knife is also used to kill and to read a recipe smell and predict the rhythmic sound of the sauce.
For the pleasure and the pleasure we live, as if part of the Decalogue in a creed they were, we believe in pleasure as the greatest of the twentieth century conquest. We met a lot into our days off and delight to know that fantasizing about our condumios and our secret to avoid being overweight. When someone does not get excited we melt, which is very different from feeling sad. The dented chefs use the word at least twenty times a day.
do not want our children to follow suit, but a lie, sooner or later there comes a carnival full of tiny chef outfits and we were excited imagining captivated baseball not as famous, but like the famous chefs of tomorrow. True, our stars are not zodiacal or rock, but the chefs we admire. Years pass and there is always one that impacts us and we want to be like him. Sometimes the cooks are divorced and there is never trauma because our cookbooks are our only asset.
see as alien to those who wait for retirement to stop doing. We also dreamed about seized age of the hand facing the sea, but the air of that dream is loaded with the smell of each dish planned for years, for the restaurant we have for the time. Our retirement is to finally do what you always did, only with the freedom gained from defining their cooking times and more and more to the soul and less for the market.
When we muse about the kiss and when we know he is away on the moon because the cooks do know that the moon is cheese and die discussing what kind of cheese.
Sumito Estevez Weeping and solidarity to death, we are. Rarely go to movies not to be accompanied by evidence and is easy to recognize almost always dressed as chefs do to avoid a civil cold clothes, that makes us persons over the years. Maybe we spend two paychecks on a chair that we liked, we are lovers of the aesthetic, yet we never take away the ugly Swedish chef. We see with love those feet that sustain us, the chair in the kitchen is an affront, the knife more than a work tool is a fetish, that does not pass from hand to hand because her virginity belonged to us and almost always eat standing.
not turn off the phone, if one of us ran out to call dilute the defiance of two, three. Honestly we are saddened and an empty restaurant to burst is shared triumph. At the time, says Mecano Torroja rod 33 in "Cruz de Navajas", we imagine ourselves in silence and when Mario Cerati on "A million light years" speaks from the ashes of a long night, we look with complicity with past histories no longer stunned.
Adrenaline is our vice and addiction first steps we give to each immediate applause seeking acceptance and nail hope that loving act of gastronomic gesture've only seen teeth. Sometimes we take vacations and visit whenever, for example, the Eiffel Tower because it happened it's so near a restaurant. In those moments when the first symptoms of withdrawal, at about 10 pm, when the body cries out to us the everyday grind of orders are given and taken, results leave the company, jump off the table and others run into the kitchen.
always arrive sober at parties when they are beginning to show fans that say it all in the heat of the uninhibited morning. Furtive glances to come to us show through. Our hunger to get home is rhythmic by fridges painted (not empty) and Miguel Hernández say ... painted with a single bottle of wine and a bottle of mustard. It's funny, we cooks common odor that we can recognize with reverence Mason secret whenever we enter the messy underworld of our cars. We believe in charms, we have codes of honor, we do not like to be reminded that a knife is also used to kill and to read a recipe smell and predict the rhythmic sound of the sauce.
For the pleasure and the pleasure we live, as if part of the Decalogue in a creed they were, we believe in pleasure as the greatest of the twentieth century conquest. We met a lot into our days off and delight to know that fantasizing about our condumios and our secret to avoid being overweight. When someone does not get excited we melt, which is very different from feeling sad. The dented chefs use the word at least twenty times a day.
do not want our children to follow suit, but a lie, sooner or later there comes a carnival full of tiny chef outfits and we were excited imagining captivated baseball not as famous, but like the famous chefs of tomorrow. True, our stars are not zodiacal or rock, but the chefs we admire. Years pass and there is always one that impacts us and we want to be like him. Sometimes the cooks are divorced and there is never trauma because our cookbooks are our only asset.
see as alien to those who wait for retirement to stop doing. We also dreamed about seized age of the hand facing the sea, but the air of that dream is loaded with the smell of each dish planned for years, for the restaurant we have for the time. Our retirement is to finally do what you always did, only with the freedom gained from defining their cooking times and more and more to the soul and less for the market.
When we muse about the kiss and when we know he is away on the moon because the cooks do know that the moon is cheese and die discussing what kind of cheese.
Note: I had days without visiting the site of High and when I read it caused me so much grace that I am and I realized I'm not the only lunatic who thinks so.
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